Drowning in Sand
by Nocturne of Eclipse
Summary: The life and times of a Team Magma Admin. Follow Tabitha as he strikes off on his own to find friends, fortune, and acceptance. Set in the RSE gameverse with some crossover to Pokemon Special and the anime. Elements of ORAS will be used in later chapters. Rating is M for gore, violence, death, sexual themes, and sensitive subject materials.
1. Prologue

Drowning in Sand

A pokemon fanfiction by Nocturne of Eclipse

Disclaimer: I do not own Pokemon or any related characters.

Summary: The life and times of a Team Magma Admin. Follow Tabitha as he strikes off on his own to find friends, fortune, love, and the most difficult thing to find of all: self-acceptance. Set in the RSE gameverse with some crossover to Pokemon Special and the anime. Elements of ORAS will be used in later chapters. Rating is M for gore, violence, death, sexual themes, and sensitive subject materials, among other things.

Note: Haters gonna hate, but I don't like the new redesigns. Or, well, let me rephrase: I actually love the redesigns, but I hate that they're redesigns. The Magma and Aqua admins had distinctive and canon appearances, and the redesigns, in my opinion, should be considered different characters—therefore I will be using the original RSE designs of many characters, including anyone and everyone involved in Magma or Aqua. Don't worry, though; I'll work the ORAS versions of the characters in, eventually, so if that's what you're interested in, stay tuned.

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><p>The man in front of him was, for lack of a better term, one of the dirtiest wretches he had ever seen. Geoffery tried to smile and tried to be polite but there was only so much of the smell he could take; it was obvious the man had seen far better days, yet there he sat on the other side of the table with his scruffy, unkept hair, sallow skin, and the weariest green eyes he'd seen that year—maybe even that decade. He smelled like ten different kinds of cheap booze and piss, and Geoff was certain his threadbare clothes were stained with <em>both<em>. He didn't know what possessed him to invite the man into the diner, despite the disparaging looks Betty gave him. She was a sweetheart, though, she was used to Geoff bringing the strangest of people into her business, sitting them down in his booth in the corner and talking with them. Talking and learning, because there was always a story to everything. Hell, most of the time there were three or four stories, and it just depended on the view you decided to look through. As an author, Geoff knew that well enough—and he knew the best stories always came from the heart of the action. It had been five years since the battle that had torn through Sootopolis like tissue paper, and the events surrounding it were hardly news: the brave young heroes fighting the eco-terrorists that threatened to destroy the earth. It had been covered a million and one times.

Geoff was quite sure, however, that it had never been covered from this particular angle. This man, this single, homeless young man was going to be the key to his next bestselling book: _The Magma Manifesto_. A little cliche, perhaps, but it was bound to be a seller. People just had this morbid sense of curiosity; it was why the news was nothing but rape and murder and everything bad in the world. If you showed them why a bad guy did what they did, they would gobble it up, all the while spitting and hissing and crying. It was going to be good. Hell, maybe even _New York Times_–worthy. And so Geoff had invited this young man off the street and into the diner, likely the first positive bit of attention the man had experienced since that horrific tragedy so long ago. The man, himself, however seemed to smile despite his situation, despite _everything_. Hoenn hadn't been kind to him after the disbandment of Team Magma, and for the life of him, Geoff couldn't understand how the other man could still smile so brightly, even for the simple prospect of a free lunch. Still, he was patient, and he smiled apologetically as Betty took the man's order (it was far more modest than Geoff had been prepared for, just a turkey burger and a beer) and the other man settled himself in.

"Been years since I been te a place this nice," the man mused, his voice thick and heavy with an Irish accent. He must have been from Mossdeep, Geoff decided; he didn't know of many Irish families that had moved into the mainland, and honestly, he figured it made for a better story, that way as the rivalry between Mossdeep and Sootopolis wasn't exactly a secret. "Think the last time I got te eat out was jes' after errythin' went te shit."

"Before they found you at the hospital?" Geoff pressed, and the man nodded, laughing awkwardly.

"Yeah, that'd be it. That night was a right bitch, woulde been more careful if I'd known half o' what I'd be gettin' meself inte." Betty came back over with their drinks, and the man's face lit up as if Christmas had come early, thanking her profusely before he tossed his head back and took a good, long chug. When he placed the bottle back on the table, Geoff could see it was over half empty, and vaguely he recalled the news article the week they found the man in the hospital- alcohol poisoning, the article had said. Geoff started to wonder just what he had gotten his wallet into. Resigning himself to his mission, he took a sip of his lemonade. Maybe he'd ask Betty for a little umbrella to put in it, later. Little umbrellas always made him feel better. With that in mind, he reached nonchalantly into his pocket and pressed the record button on his audio recorder.

"So," Geoff said, "I'm curious," and the man's gaze left the TV wedged into the corner of the diner to focus back on Geoff. His smile was _very_ disarming, but invited Geoff's questions with a sort of childlike curiosity that he never would have expected from someone the general population of Hoenn would consider a hardened criminal. It was a moment before Geoff continued. "How did someone like yourself even join Team Magma?"

"Really?" the man asked, laughing, "_that's_ yer first question? Mate, I may be on the streets, but even _I_ got the sense te ask a man's name."

"I already know who you are," Geoff pointed out, "all of Hoenn knows who you are. It's not such a big secret."

"See, there's yer problem, right there," the man disagreed, "ye ain't know _shit_. Ye think ye do, but ye really don'. Ye know what I did, an' even then, that only scratches the surface. Ye ask a man's name bifer ye ask _anythin'_ else." Geoff should have known this would be far easier planned than done.

"Alright, then. What's your name?"

The man leaned forward over the table, and for a second Geoff wondered if he had made a terrible, _terrible_ mistake, but the man merely extended his hand. "Tabitha Shrier," the man introduced himself, "an' yerself, fella?" Hesitantly, Geoff reached out to shake Tabitha's hand.

"I'm Geoffery Lund," he answered, "and it's good to meet you, Tabitha Shrier. Now, will you answer my question?" The man laughed again and settled back into his seat, a lopsided grin taking over his face, the impish expression saying nothing more than _weeelllll, if you **really** wanna__ knooowwww_. Arceus Almighty, Geoff could feel the headache coming on, already. A second more, however, and Tabitha began to speak.

This was going to be interesting.


	2. Birthday Party

Disclaimer: What would you do if you had to chose between a disclaimer and a pot of gold? ...Yeah, probably the disclaimer. I don't wanna be sued.

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><p>It turned out Tabitha had decided to not answer his question, and Geoff hadn't been entirely surprised. The young man bounced this way and that with his conversation, going from story fragment to story fragment as he continued to drink between them. Three beer bottles, two empty and one about to be, stood to attention at the ex-Magma's side of the table. Slowly but surely, Geoff felt his headache begin to worsen. He honestly wasn't sure how much longer he could handle this beating around the bush, and he had turned his audio recorder off long ago during a story that had involved, among other things, a daring escape from a Team Aqua base that involved apparently nothing but a koffing, a jar of Nutella, two Hot Wheels, and a blow dart, which had absolutely nothing to do with anything he had asked the ex-Magma, in the first place.<p>

"This is all well and good," Geoff finally said when Tabitha took a break to finish off his third beer, "but you haven't exactly answered my question."

Tabitha at least had the decency to look mildly embarrassed at that, though Geoff had no way of knowing whether or not the booze had a decision in that factor. In fact, he was pretty sure the young man had been deliberately evading his question in its entirety, and he was pretty damn sick of it. Still, he didn't answer right away, instead preferring to remain silent. It was better, Geoff decided, than having to listen to another ridiculous story that had obviously been made up on the spot to avoid _reality__. _Eventually, Betty brought them their orders, and Geoff was about to grab his silverware and tuck in when Tabitha began tapping frantically on the table with one finger, head turned to the side at an odd angle with an expression that was equal parts anxious and unsettling. For another long moment, the young man said nothing, instead reaching to take a large bite out of his turkey burger.

"I didn't have no friends," he muttered the instant he swallowed, "I didn't have no friends, an me ould fella and me mam didn't get on well with me." Finally, Geoffery thought, _finally_, and he quickly turned his audio recorder back on.

"Sorry?" he then prompted, feigning misplaced attention.

"They wanted a girl," Tabitha continued, "they thought I didn't know, but I always heard 'em, late at night. They thought I was asleep, but I heard 'em. They were so disappointed. I tried." Awkwardly, the young man dropped the turkey burger to the plate and ran one hand over his face, pausing to rub his temples. When he looked back up, he seemed much more exhausted than he had all day. His voice broke a little when he continued to speak. "I _tried_. Weren't no good, though. They didn't tell no one. Made me swear not te tell no one, too. Weren't hard 'cause I didn't have no friends. I was a good boy. _I_ _tried_."

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><p>He was turning eleven that weekend, and boy, was he excited. The purple-haired boy had trouble sitting still on good days, but with such an event just around the corner, it was even <em>more<em> difficult for him, and all day the reverend druids of the _Lilycove Orbist Academy_ had to tell him to slow down, to speak properly, to pay attention in class, but he just _couldn't_. His parents had promised, _promised_ him that he could have a party this year, that he could invite anyone he wanted, as they had finished renovating their beach home to add more space to entertain, to have company, to be _social_ with a lit house and _sound_ and _people_. The house was often far darker and emptier than Tabitha liked; his parents were rarely home until it was time for dinner, and sometimes even not until it was time for Tabitha to go to bed. His mother worked long hours in the Gym in Foretree as a representative of the Hoenn Pokemon League, helping to train and take care of the League-issued Gym pokemon. His father owned a shipping business that mostly dealt in importing and some exporting, and even some local mail services. Both jobs were intensive, and Tabitha often found himself at home with nothing but his poochyena puppy for company. Certainly, it was lonely, and he would have loved to see his parents more than just to eat or attend worship at the local Orbist Temple with them, but on the bright side, he was able to play his fiddle as loud and as long as he wanted without anyone yelling at him, and his parents weren't able to miss him when he decided to go spend a day camping in his secret base on Route 120 and playing with his pokemon.

The downside to that, of course, was that he had no idea how to interact with people. He spent far too much time away from them to understand them, and the gap was most obvious at school. The other kids didn't talk to him much, and unless there was an even number in one of his classes, he was stuck doing group projects by himself. He tried to tell himself he didn't mind. In fact, he tried to tell his parents he didn't mind, because it meant whenever he was stuck working alone for his Scroll Studies class, he could say he was learning the passages far better than his peers, and his parents believed him. The reverend druids believed him, too. The other kids... well, they didn't believe him, so much. They heckled him, sometimes called him bad names. They threw oranges at him during lunch. Mostly, they left him alone and whispered about him behind his back or wrote unflattering messages about him on his locker. That was what he had found after school the day he passed out party invitations. He was more than a little sure no one would be coming to his party, after that.

"Give it a day or two," his mother had told him when he informed her of this thought, "maybe they just need to ask their parents." Tabitha didn't think it had anything to do with that, but he had simply nodded and been on his way, telling himself he was probably wrong because parents always knew best. He knew that fact well, which was why he didn't put up a fuss when they took him to meet with a druid from the Temple in private every other week. Still, though, days came and went, and not a single person had RSVP'd. On Friday night, when he was supposed to have been sleeping, Tabitha had woken to his poochyena's whines and sleepily had descended the stairs to get his puppy a treat from the kitchen. He froze at the door, however, when he heard his name. His parents were talking about him, again.

"—I just don't know what to do, Travis, _Draoi _Coburn said it's been getting worse. Last time he showed me a picture of what those kids are writing on Tabitha's locker, and– well– I'm _worried_, the things they're _calling_ him..."

"But the therapy's _working_, Quinn. It's _got to be_. He said it was just a phase, anyways, Tabitha will grow out of it, soon."

"It's not working if things are getting _worse_. They tried to split the children up for PE, today, and he tried to go with the girls for dance." He heard his father take in a sharp breath, a disappointed breath.

"Next he'll be asking to wear the skirt," the man muttered bitterly, "if we had a girl, maybe he'd stop trying, so hard." Slowly, his heart sank. _If they had a girl, if Tabitha had been a girl, if they'd had a girl instead of Tabitha_... They were careful not to say it when they thought he was listening. What they didn't know was that he was always, _always_ listening.

"He needs _friends_," his mother added, "some proper boys to get him back on the right path. None of the boys from his school called about the party."

"_None_ of them?"

"Not a single one. Parents won't let them, either, no doubt. I wish I could blame them, but they're not _wrong_..." A sigh, deep and in unison. They did that a lot, when they talked about him. It had stopped bothering him a long time ago.

"Well... it's not too late. I'll give Hiroshi a call. He's got a son, remember? A little older than Tab, but he's proper and from a good family, to boot. Maybe we can have him come over. It won't be a total disaster." The scraping of chairs, and the mingled footsteps of his parents, away from the kitchen and towards the office. Tabitha waited until he was sure they were gone, and then slipped inside. His mom had left her PokeNav on the table, screen bright and e-mail open. Tabitha tried to ignore the picture it displayed, focusing instead on pulling out a bit of jerky for his poochyena. Still, even as he turned to leave, the screen caught the corner of his eye, and though he told himself not to look, his gaze was slowly drawn to the Nav's screen. What he saw there daunted him. He didn't want those kids to come to his party. Not really.

Awkwardly, casting a glance or two back at his mother's Nav as he did so, Tabitha left the room and sped back up the stairs to bed.

The next day unfolded as usual. Tabitha woke to an empty house and showered and dressed himself before going downstairs, where he dutifully fed his poochyena and then fixed himself a bowl of the cereal his mother had left out for him. He almost wanted to skip school that day, but his parents had made it painfully obvious in the passed week that if they caught him skipping class they would cancel his party, and that was the last thing he wanted. Maybe, he naively considered, if he was really good and really quiet all day, one or two of his peers would reconsider, and they would end up attending. Reality quickly settled in over the course of school: he was tripped on his way to his seat first period, picked last for dodge ball in PE, pelted with no less than three fruits at lunch, and shoved into his locker more times than usual. By the end of the day, he wasn't even sure if having the party was worth it. He couldn't think of a worse way to spend his birthday.

When he got home, the house was quiet and dark, as always–and just as so, it was empty. Lonely, every single day of his life that he could remember. It had always, _always_ been like this. The only thing that made his day any brighter was his poochyena puppy, who barked and rolled onto his back, tongue lolling out happily as Tabitha entered through the front door. "Hey, there, Jas," he greeted the puppy as always, and was met with more happy barks in return. Jaspar was his best friend–his only friend, for that matter of fact. He was the only one that would accompany Tabitha when he went out camping, and the only one that would listen to his troubles without judgement and without bias. Tabitha didn't need anyone, he would often think, as long as he had his faithful poochyena by his side. They would have a great party all on their own; it wouldn't matter when none of the kids from school showed up. Of course, when his mother returned home (before his father, as always) and she asked him, Tabitha only smiled innocently and spoke of the non-existent schoolmates that were still taking their time to decide whether or not to attend. The smile she offered him then was equal parts pitying and relieved, and he knew she understood the situation far better than she pretended to. Neither of them, however, pressed the matter, and they worked to tidy up and finish preparing snacks for the party.

It was nearing seven when the two heard the front door unlock and the laughter shared between Tabitha's father and his father's business friend, and they froze for a second before his mother turned back to him and gave one of her many useless attempts to smooth down his hair which continued to stick obstinately in any direction it so pleased. "Alright, sweetie," she gently told him, "party time. Be good for me, alright? It's very important for Dad's business that you're extra polite to Mr. Hiroshi and his son. Go say hi, and I'll be right out with the food." Tabitha left the kitchen without a fuss, shuffling into the den and bashfully keeping his gaze fixated on his feet. Politely, he smiled as his father introduced him to Mr. Hiroshi, who had a contract with the family business; Mr. Hiroshi owned a small series of breweries that had existed for several generations and was rather lucrative. They'd been working with each other for years, and though Tabitha had never met the Brandt family before, he knew that Mr. Hiroshi and his father were very good friends, because they went drinking together every other weekend in Slateport. He'd been hoping that he would be able to become friends with Mr. Hiroshi's son, just as his father was with Mr. Hiroshi- but the Brandt boy did not seem to share these sentiments, at all.

He was taller than Tabitha, with long, silky blond hair that reached his shoulders and bangs that fell into his face, partially obscuring his narrow, icy blue eyes. His face betrayed nothing but indifference- or maybe it was just boredom, as Tabitha was certain he caught a tiny bit of curiosity in the older boy's eyes as he looked him over. Maybe his party would turn out alright after all. With a shy smile, Tabitha extended his hand to the older boy. "Thanks fer coming te me party," he said, but the other boy merely snorted derisively at that.

"Right," the boy deadpanned, "party. Let me know when it starts getting fun."

Tab felt himself shrinking for a second at the boy's abruptness, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mr. Hiroshi scowling, opening his mouth to scold his son, and hastily, to save the boy the embarrassment, he spoke again, "If I have to tell ye the fun parts, then ye ain't been goin' te any good parties." The Brandt boy offered him a mildly amused, if dry, smile, and Mr. Hiroshima remained silent. "I'm Tabitha," he continued, "who are ye?" Finally, the other boy reached out to shake his hand.

"I'm Mack," the boy replied, "so what kind of party is this supposed to be, anyways?"

"A fun one!" Tab told him, "I got all sorts o' games up in me room we can play, I got Monopoly an' Sorry an' Trouble aaaaannnn'... I think Cluedo?" There was far more than that, of course, his family was a gaggle of board game junkies; their favorites, however, included foreign games, logic puzzle games, and among other things, word games—things the boy was _pretty _certain would be of no interest to Mack, because his family was weird and did weird things that normal families, like Mack's family, didn't do. Normal families weren't that obsessed with board games, were they?

"Yeah, like I said, let me know when it starts getting fun." Mack shook his head, and Tabitha felt himself shrink a little. A few minutes, and he was already blowing it; there was no way Mack would want to be friends with him now, if he even had in the first place. Slowly, the small measure of excitement Tabitha had built up over the course of the day as he clung to the simple fact that there was going to be one person, one _new friend_ at his party, began to crumble just a bit, and the boy started to lower his head. He was stupid to have thought it would all work out. The feeling must have shown on his face, because all of a sudden the Brandt boy looked awkward and unsure about the entire situation, and not a moment later, Tabitha's father cut into the conversation.

"Why don'tche boys go play in Tabitha's room?" he suggested, "ye can take some snacks with ye, and we'll give ye a holler when dinner's all ready." Neither Hiroshi nor Tabitha's mother said anything as his father shooed the two of tem up the stairs, pressing a serving dish covered in pickles into Tabitha's hands as he did so. Tabitha made a face—he _hated_ pickles. They were _unnatural_. Nevertheless, he took the dish and dutifully led Mack up the stairs and down the hall, into his room, where he beelined straight for his desk and dropped the pickles unceremoniously onto it. Mack cast his bored gaze around the room, and without bothering to ask, hopped up to sit on Tabitha's bed, propping himself back against the wall.

"So," the blond boy said, "what do you do for fun?"

Tabitha merely shrugged one shoulder in reply and took a seat on the floor, his hand absently fingering one of Jaspar's nearby chew toys. "I play with me dog," he replied quietly, "an' I play me fiddle an' I study the Tome." Mack grimaced and shook his head sympathetically.

"That sounds _boring_ as _hell_," he muttered, "I don't get people like you, happy to do _nothing_ like that..."

"It ain't nothin'!" Tabitha insisted, and when Mack didn't seem to believe him, he frowned and continued. "I really like playin' me fiddle. It used te be me granpappy's, but he passed inte the Next when I was seven. Mam says when I play it, I make 'im smile."

"..._Right_," Mack said, "fiddling for ghosts. Is that _all_ you do, though? Sit in here all by yourself and play music?"

Tabitha shook his head and motioned to his poochyena, but Mack stared at him long and hard, and eventually, with a sigh, he gave in. "I mean... besides all this, I jes' go out te the western route an' go campin' by me lonesome. I don' really have _friends_, if that's what yer askin' me."

"...Neither do I," Mack admitted, averting his gaze, "I didn't wanna come, but my father made me, because none of the kids in my town want to get near me, anymore."

"What happened?"

"Uhm... I put another boy in the hospital." Tabitha could only stare on, brow furrowed, taking that in. He didn't know Mack well—or at all, to be exact—but the fact remained that he couldn't imagine the older boy hurting anyone that badly. Sure, he was a bit prickly, but... well, he'd been nicer than any of the boy's at Tabitha's school, and to be honest, Tab was the tiniest bit envious that the older boy had the guts to do what he, himself, couldn't.

"I put a card inte a boy's desk on Valentine's," Tabitha offered, averting his gaze to the floor. He waited for Mack to say what everyone said, how it was a sin, how Tabitha would need to be fixed, how he needed to see a preist or a druid or whatever kind of clergy they could think of—but he didn't. He merely looked Tabitha over appraisingly, and after a long moment, nodded.

"You have any videogames?" he asked, and surprised by the abruptness of the subject change, Tabitha didn't answer right away. He hadn't been expecting that, at all. Maybe this Mack boy was nicer than Tabitha had given him credit for. Slowly, he nodded—he didn't have video games, himself, as he had little interest in them, but his dad had a SNES stored away somewhere; certainly he'd let them play if they asked. Tabitha quickly hopped to his feet and reached to grab Mack's hand, hastily pulling him out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

"Da!" Tabitha chirped as they skidded to a halt in front of their parents, "Da, can Mack'n me play SNES?" His parents smiled at his enthusiasm; they were excited, Tabitha could tell. He was making a friend. Even _he_ was excited and truth be told, Tabitha found it hard to get excited about much of anything, these days. But then he saw his father's gaze lower to Mack's hand clasped in his, and for the briefest of moments, he saw the man's expression change to worry, fear, confusion. Tabitha didn't understand what he did wrong, but something hadn't gone right.

"...Sure, Slugger," his father said quietly, "but why don't you let Mack have his arm back, eh?" Under the disapproving gazes of his parents and Mack's father, both, Tabitha let Mack's hand drop, eyes large and searching for approval. He hoped he wasn't in trouble; thankfully, his father said no more on the matter and instead beckoned the boys along, leading them down the hall and into one of the newly renovated rooms, where a big telly sat atop a handsome chestnut cabinet. His father rummaged for a moment in one of the cubbies, withdrawing just a few moments later his SNES, and soon after that hooked up all the wires and cables before pointing them to the games they were allowed to play and leaving to return to the other adults.

While Mack took his time looking through the cartridges, Tabitha stared helplessly at all the buttons on the SNES controller, trying to make sense of them. There were far too many, and he didn't have a single clue what any of them did. "How do ye even know what te do with this thin'?" he asked incredulously, turning it this way and that. Mack didn't reply, merely pushed him gently, if firmly, out of the way and took the controller from his hands.

"Put this in the console," the blond commanded as he replaced the controller with the cartridge, and Tabitha dutifully did as he was told and then took a seat next to Mack, settling in to watch, as he often did when his father would play. The familiar opening screen of Zelda soon began playing on the telly, and from that point on, the boys were silent. Tabitha kept his eyes on the screen for what felt like hours. Mack was good at video games, he decided. The blond's brow set into a furrow of concentration, hands expertly maneuvering the controls, playing in a way completely different from how Tabitha's father did when he watched him play in the very same room. Maybe it was rude that Mack didn't talk to him. Maybe _he_ was rude for not talking to Mack. Maybe their indifference for each other made the both of them rude, but at that moment, Tabitha didn't care. This must have been what the other kids did, he decided, when they spent time playing together. This must have been what those other kids called fun—friendship, even. It was like when he was sad, and Jaspar would cuddle quietly with him until he wasn't. It was... _nice_.

Eventually, the boys heard the call of Tabitha's mother, beckoning them back to the dining room for supper. Tabitha waited patiently as Mack saved his file and stood after him, taking him back down the hallway to where their parents awaited them. Supper was his favorite: a tender roast with seasoned potatoes and grilled onions, a dish he was always looking forward to, made just as his grandmother used to. Discussions were nothing but professional, just Mr. Brandt and Tabitha's parents discussing their businesses and contracts and deals with each other, and occasionally questions which either of the boys would have to answer. Soon enough, however, they finished both supper and birthday cake, and finally, _finally_, it was the time that every child looked forward to on the anniversary of their birth: _birthday presents_.

The first box was, as always, from Tabitha's parents. As they egged him on, he ripped the paper off of the tiny box and flipped it open to find a sleek, shiny red pendant, one of the nice ones that they sold at the temple that looked almost exactly like the ones the _Draoi_ wore. Enthusiastically, he slipped it on over his head, admiring it glittering in the light. Groudon's symbol displayed prominently in its flattened face, matching the sleek black leather cord that tied around his neck. It was a little big for him, at the moment, hanging a little too far down his chest. Still, it was a beginning, and it was something Tabitha would wear with pride the next he went to school, eagerly awaiting the moment he was taken by _Draoi_ Coburn for his special lessons so he could show him his new treasure.

The second box was entirely unexpected. Tabitha couldn't remember a time in his life when he had gotten a second birthday present since his grandparents had passed away, and yet, it seemed as though Mack had seen fit to bring him one. Whatever it was, it was squishy, and shoddily wrapped, as though it had been done hastily, with more tape on it than was strictly necessary. It took him a good five minutes just to rip the paper away, but when he did, he had to say, it was worth it. The torchic was soft and plush, one of the new dolls from the department store that Tabitha had seen on the shelves, recently. Without a word, he hugged the plushie close, feeling it gently squish under his grip. It was just so _soft_. "Thank ye," he said to Mack, "thank ye _so much!_" He hopped out of his chair and scurried over to the older boy, throwing one arm around him to hug him just as he'd hugged the plush, and unable to truly express how much it meant to him that this boy he'd never even _met_ had gone out of his way to not only come to his birthday, but to bring him something _so cute_, he did the only thing he could think to: he reached to give Mack a quick peck on the cheek, and then another squeeze before he finally let go of him.

He wasn't expecting the look of shock and disappointment on his parents' faces when he turned around.

Tabitha didn't remember much after that; Mack was hustle up from his seat and over to put on his shoes, their parents talked in undertones about things Tabitha couldn't hear, and he, himself, was sent up to his room before he even had a chance to say goodbye to his new friend. After Mack and Mr. Brandt left, Tabitha heard his parents fighting. They went on and on forever, but he couldn't make out what they were saying; they must have closed the door to the office, because no matter how hard he strained his ears, he couldn't understand. Something about converting something? Maybe like they did in math class, at school? Tabitha wasn't sure. When the fighting finally stopped, when it was finally quiet and he could hear them coming up the stairs, he could only feel himself tense up, and worried what they may have been coming to do, he quickly hid the torchic plushie underneath his comforter, next to Jaspar, where they wouldn't be able to see it.

Both of his parents looked uncomfortable when they came into his room. They sat on either side of the bed next to him, and though they offered him small, sad smiles, he shrank as his father threw an arm in what was supposed to be a comforting manner around his shoulders. "Hey, there, Slugger," he said tiredly, "I know ye must be confused right now. It's okay. Mam an' I aren't upset." Tabitha had learned long ago that as a lie. It was always a lie. Then it was his mother's turn to speak, and the words she said were ones that, though he didn't know it at the moment, would change his life forever.

"Tabitha, sweetie," she murmured, carding her fingers through his unruly hair, "we're going to take you to see someone, from now on. Don't worry. We'll get this all sorted out."

* * *

><p>"You still haven't answered my question," Geoff pressed exasperatedly, propping his forehead against his hand as he leaned forward onto the table. Tabitha payed him no mind, merely continued to play with his fork. "Just... tell me, does this have <em>anything<em> to do with how you joined Team Magma?"

"Ye asked me fer me story," the ex-magma pointed out, "an' I'm tellin' ye all of it. Ye git the _full experience_, mate." Geoffery wasn't entirely sure what the 'full experience' met, but if the stories Tabitha had told him thus far were any indication, it was going to be _boring_ and generally not entirely worth his time. The more the journalist mused on this fact, the more he wondered if he had been better off getting and interview with that freelancer he'd once met who had worked for Magma long enough to know its inside and out. Still... supposedly, the young man before him had been an _admin_, and Geoff was more than a little curious as to how _that_ happened. He would wait a while longer, he told himself, and perhaps he would get what he needed from Tabitha before the night was out. In the meantime, said ex-Magma hailed Betty over to order another beer.

Geoff was going to have to put it on his tab, this time.


End file.
